


The Visitor

by Castillon02



Series: Bond Women Loving Women [12]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: 007 Fest, F/F, Femslash, Porn Watching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-29 05:10:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19823215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castillon02/pseuds/Castillon02
Summary: Camille arrives to visit Bond. Eve wants to know who his cute friend is.





	The Visitor

**Author's Note:**

> For midrashic's "sharing porn" prompt and the Camille/Eve prompt on the 007 Fest rare pair table.

The news probably should have come from a lowly desk clerk, but Bond would have had far too much fun with that. The grape vine’s gossip made its way through the office and into Eve’s mobile in time for her to intercept the clerk with a smile and a firm notification that she would take it from here.

The clerk’s shoulders slumped with relief. “Thank you, Ms. Moneypenny.”

All in a day’s work. Moneypenny made her way through Six’s halls and into the little section set aside for double-oh offices. Loelia Ponsonby, the department secretary, nodded at her. She jerked her head at Bond’s office to show that he was indeed in there, and not at the gym or in the pool or at lunch, no matter what his lack of response to any knock might seem to indicate.

Moneypenny didn’t bother knocking, only opened the door to deliver the news. “Bond,” she said. “You have a visitor.”

Bond would have heard her heels in the hall—as an exec, she didn’t conceal her presence, she announced it. Still, he looked up from his doodle as though he hadn’t. “Oh?”

“A Ms. Camille Montes,” Moneypenny said.

Bond frowned. “Does she seem to be in trouble?”

“She told the clerk that she was in town on holiday and that she wanted to drop in and have lunch with you while she was here,” Moneypenny said. “Nothing in her behavior suggests otherwise.” So she was either innocent, or competent, or both

Bond’s eyes crinkled at the edges and he stood. “I’ll see her, of course.”

Of course. Anything to get out of paperwork. If Montes was an agent he might even call it diplomatic relations and get their lunch comped. Bond didn’t seem worried, either, so the people who were wondering if Ms. Montes would be the woman to finally show up with a blond and blue-eyed child in tow were going to be disappointed.

She was lingering to chat with Ponsonby when Bond turned and said, “Coming, Moneypenny?”

Moneypenny caught up with him. She wanted to see who had big enough brass ones to knock on Six’s door and check if Bond could please come out to play.

***

Ms. Montes looked a few years younger than Moneypenny, the same height, well-muscled, shoulders loose and confident. Her short dark hair brushed against her chin when she turned to look at them and her fashionable ginger jumpsuit swished as she stood. She would look downright kissable if she weren’t also wearing a terrible tweed cap.

As they approached, Montes flashed a mischievous smile, tugging at the brim of her cap like a Dickensian orphan. “Do you like it?” she asked Bond. “I’m undercover as you, undercover as an English person. Really convincing.” She winked at Eve.

Eve smirked. The cheek! Well, Bond's undercover work did leave something to be desired. 

Meanwhile, Bond snorted. “Good to see you, too, Camille.” To Eve’s shock, he pulled her into a brief hug.

Less shocking, he took the opportunity to pinch Camille’s cap and toss it to Eve. “She’s the only one of us who’s English enough to wear it,” he explained to Camille, conveniently ignoring the Scottish flatcap industry. “Camille, meet Eve Moneypenny.”

Eve smiled. “Pleasure.”

“Moneypenny, this is Camille, whose sense of humor has apparently improved in ten years.” Bond darted a wry glance at Camille.

“Hopefully as much as your infiltration skills have,” Camille said, returning the look. She glanced between him and Eve. “Are you two…?”

“I’m gay,” Eve blurted instinctively.

“Same hat,” Camille said, which didn’t make sense, but she raised her hand for a high-five, so Eve gave her one.

Behind Camille, Bond shot Eve an entertained look that said she was never going to live this down. “Would you like to join us for lunch?” he asked her, his eyes wicked.

Moneypenny could sense a trap well enough to avoid one, even one as cute as Camille seemed to be. “Terribly sorry,” she said, “but I’ve a meeting shortly. Be sure to tell Camille about that time you let yourself get shot, though.” She turned and left before he could protest, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Camille punching Bond in the arm and pulling him out the door.

Hmmph. Eve didn’t need Bond trying to _wingman_ her. Ridiculous.

(If Eve put the terrible hat in her desk drawer with the possibility of returning it in person in the back of her mind, well, that was no one else’s business but her own.)

***

“Bond met her on the Quantum mission,” Tanner told Moneypenny, gesturing with his fork over the little table they were sharing in the exec copy room. Ostensibly, this was a working lunch; really, it was an excuse to chat about Bond’s guest. “Right after he became a double-oh, after that thing in Montenegro. While assisting him, she killed a high-ranking member of the corrupt local government, a general who had previously assassinated her entire family.”

Moneypenny swallowed her mouthful of honey shrimp. “Is that meant to intimidate me, or…?” Honestly, there were a few corrupt members of her government who could do with a bit of lead poisoning, too.

“Since then, she has worked variously as a human rights activist, a smuggler, a vigilante, and an agent of the Bolivian government before she was unofficially exiled from the country for telling the bastard in charge where to stick it,” Tanner went on, still in briefing mode.

“Nice,” Moneypenny said.

“Currently,” Tanner paused, building suspense before what had to be his piece de resistance, “she is serving as a substitute teacher and outreach associate for a non-profit school focused on helping underprivileged young women succeed in the world.”

“Ah,” Moneypenny said. “Damn.”

Camille was a competent killer, _and_ she had a system of morals despite her tragic backstory, _and_ she was good with kids? What the fuck? Even Moneypenny was only two of those!

“You, my dear Moneypenny, are fucked,” Tanner said.

“So fucked,” Moneypenny agreed. “Or I would be…if she were staying long.”

Tanner drooped at this bit of pragmatism. “Her return ticket is for next week,” he confessed. “I had Q look it up.” He perked up. “You could always—”

“Give up on my ambitions and transfer to a foreign station?” Moneypenny shook her head. “I think not.”

“I was going to say, ‘just sleep with her,’ but I can see now what _that_ would lead to.” Tanner frowned. “You deserve to be happy, you know,” he insisted, in the way that all happily married people seemed to insist to single people. He and Mariam were besotted with each other. It was disgusting.

“I am happy,” Moneypenny reminded him, in the way that single people everywhere reminded their condescendingly married friends.

“Yes, but—”

“Eat your shrimp, Tanny.”

Tanner sighed. “All right. It’s your life, Penners.”

“Yes, it is,” Moneypenny said firmly. “In fact, it’s good that Ms. Montes isn’t available, because I suddenly have evening plans.”

***

After sixteen years in government service, Eve’s evening plans consisted of a glass of wine, a bowl of fresh pasta, and a hot bath with her favorite citrus oil. She sighed languorously, breathed in the steamy air, and let herself drift into relaxation. The extra large bath had been expensive, but so, so worth it. Peace.

Then someone knocked on the door.

Eve growled. Hopefully it was an assassin so she’d have a legitimate excuse to shoot them. She clambered out of the tub, grabbed the gun holstered by her bathroom sink, and flipped through the security feed on her mobile with her free hand.

Camille was on her doorstep, rocking on her feet and holding a suitcase.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. This had to be Bond’s fault. He was an utter arsehole, and she texted him as much.

Eve pulled on her red satin robe and rushed to open the door. “Are you okay?” she asked. She was still holding her gun; she jerked it to the side so Camille couldn’t see.

Camille’s wide eyes visibly took in Eve’s state of undress. “I’m guessing you didn’t really text Bond about your spare room?”

Eve’s mobile buzzed with a text. _You’re welcome_ , Bond had written. _Winky-face_. He hadn’t even used an emoji, just typed out ‘winky-face’ like a lecherous dinosaur.

“I am so sorry,” Eve said, discreetly setting her gun on the side table by the door. “I do actually have a spare room, but I’ll understand if you don’t feel comfortable…”

Camille shifted. “I don’t want to impose,” she said, her eyes flicking to Eve’s dripping hair.

“But it would spare the expense,” Eve said with an understanding nod. If Camille was in the non-profit business, then any spare dollar was undoubtedly a good one.

“It really would,” Camille agreed. “Besides,” she leaned in conspiratorially, “I’m sure that working together we can plot a better revenge for this than we could apart.” She favored Eve with one of her mischievous smiles.

Eve couldn’t help but smile back. “I suppose I can’t argue with that,” she said, and she held open the door for Camille to come in.

She was strong, but she wasn’t that strong. Bond had practically sent Camille over with gift-wrapping.

***

Eve found herself grateful that she used the MI6 cleaning service, which was mainly focused on preventing electronic bugs (that weren't Six's) but also made sure that her floors stayed vacuumed. She slipped into the role of the host: “Something to drink?” and “Let me show you where you can put your suitcase” and “The loo is just this way.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Camille offered, seeing the full tub.

“I blame Bond,” Eve said. “That’s usually a safe thing to do.”

“Very true,” Camille agreed.

They shared a sneaking glance, and all at once they started giggling, for all the world like they were teenagers instead of in their late thirties.

“Let’s have a girls’ night!” Camille said, bouncing a little.

Eve hesitated. “Girls’ night where we get each other off, or girls’ night where we braid each other’s hair and talk about boys? Either way is fine,” she added hastily, “but I’d hate to get the vibrator out when you really wanted the hairbrush.”

“What about both?” Camille asked, waggling her eyebrows. “I like vibrators _and_ people brushing my hair.”

Eve laughed. “Then I’ll set up the porn while you slip into something more comfortable.” She meant it as a casual line, something to end the conversation so Camille could change into her pajamas. Really she’d get the wine back out and try not to fist pump like a nerd about to get laid for the first time.

But Camille frowned and went a little chilly. “Porn is gross and exploitative,” she said, taking a step back, her arms akimbo. “It’s just men raping women and getting off on it.”

Eve blinked. Paused. “Right, there’s a lot to tackle there,” she said carefully. “But to start, I assure you that the porn I consume is ethically created. You… I mean, there’s indie stuff, you know, created by women and gender minorities? And sometimes people just film each other. It’s not all men jizzing on women’s tits. Most of mine doesn’t have men in it at all; looking at cock is too much like work.”

Camille’s frown was lightening. “Cock is a pain in the ass,” she agreed. “Oh, but girl cock is different, of course.”

“Of course,” Eve said. “Do you know, I was actually joking about the porn, but now I feel like it’s part of your gay tourist experience. Shall I put some on? If you don’t like it, we can turn it off. If you do like it…” She caught Camille’s eyes.

“If I do like it, I might try a few other things,” Camille said, her smile small but sly. “We’ll see if I should trust your judgment.”

***

Right, no pressure. She just had to pick some porn that would convince someone not to hate the entire porn industry. Easy.

Nothing too rough; no need to muddy the waters with the joys of roleplay.

Something intimate, maybe a little sweet, undeniably sexy… Eve had a favorite that fit the bill—a gorgeous, full-figured woman bringing herself off with the guidance of her unseen, smoky-voiced lover. Yes, that one would do nicely.

When Camille walked back into the little den in silky blue shorts and a tanktop, Eve was ready. Her blackout curtains were shut, the lights dimmed, and the TV on, creating a nice, intimate space out of the spot where she usually just sat and watched _Downton_.

“Shall we get started?” Eve asked, patting the seat on the sofa next to her.

Camille smirked. “I think I see somewhere comfier,” she said, and she perched her bum on Eve’s lap, pulled at Eve’s hands so they cupped her hairy, muscular thighs. “Okay, now I’m ready.”

Camille’s weight made a deep-down part of Eve start to relax. She tugged Camille close against her chest and Camille went willingly, snuggling in, until they were close as cats.

Eve pressed play.

“Hey, beautiful,” the low-voiced speaker said, and the camera zoomed in on a dark-haired woman’s smiling round face, panned down her naked body, lingered on her collarbones, her breasts, her rolling belly, her thighs, her ankles, her red-painted toes. “You ready to get started, sugar?”

The woman nodded.

“Gorgeous. Start touching those thighs for me…yeah, feel how soft you are, I love your softness, how smooth you are for me. You’re doing so well.”

On screen, the woman’s fingers trembled, but she kept touching herself.

“Shall I?” Eve murmured in Camille’s ear, curving her thumbs along the inside of Camille’s thighs, enjoying the little squirm she gave.

“Yes, you shall,” Camille said, all imperious humor, and pressed Eve’s hands down as if to say ‘now, please.’

Eve obligingly followed the motions of the woman on the screen, sweeping up to tease just at the creases of Camille’s thighs before caressing down again.

“Oh, yes,” Camille breathed, arching into Eve’s fingers as they made a vee around her sex. “That’s…”

“Terrible and exploitative?” Eve asked, grinning.

Camille laughed. “If you don’t get on with it, it will be!”

“Yeah,” the voice on screen said from behind the camera, “yeah, you’re a darling, that’s it, you’re starting to be ready now, aren’t you? Let’s keep going…”

Eve swept a hand over Camille’s sex just as the woman on screen did the same; she knew this bit by heart.

The voice laughed, gently scolded, “Not yet, not yet… I want your hands on your belly, first, and on your breasts, do that.”

The woman winked at the camera, sly and cheerful, her hands moving, and Eve’s hands moved too, sweeping up past Camille’s thighs, across her slender ribs, until she was cupping her breasts.

Camille was breathing faster, now, and her hands gripped at Eve’s knees. “Yes,” she said, “yes, good. Pinch them, I like a little—”

“A little pain with your pleasure?” Eve asked, and she rolled Camille’s nipples beneath her fingers, ruthlessly gentle, until Camille was jutting her chest up against Eve’s hands, making needy noises in the back of her throat. Then, finally, cruelly, Eve pinched.

“Fuck! Yes, Eve—” Camille arched into Eve’s chest, her legs jerking wide.

And Eve—well, Eve had never been good at resisting an obvious target, so she moved one hand lower, stroked her fingers right where Camille wanted them.

“Okay!” Camille gasped, rolling her hips, grinding her arse into Eve’s lap. “Good, I believe you, ethical porn is great.” She scrabbled around in the sofa cushions until she found the remote. It took her a couple of tries to find the power button, and Eve wasn’t any help at all, focused as she was on doing other things, but eventually the TV screen went blank.

“Not your cup of tea?” Eve asked, teasing.

“ _You’re_ my cup of tea,” Camille said. She twisted around in Eve’s lap, gripping her shoulders for leverage and wrapping her knees around Eve’s waist before grinding down, hot and fast, her silky wet shorts slippery against Eve’s clit.

“Oh, God,” Eve breathed, rolling back against her, heat building up inside. “Oh, God, Camille—”

“Come on,” Camille said, “I want to see what you look like when you come, I want you to show me—” Still moving, she pulled Eve into a kiss, gentle at first, only to catch Eve’s lower lip between her teeth. She nipped possessively.

The heat climbing low in Eve bloomed in her cunt. She threw her head back and shuddered through the aftershocks of it, tugged Camille’s hips to a stop. “Hang on,” she said, “hang on, give me a moment, and I’ll lick you out.”

Camille’s hot eyes traced her face and she smiled. “Sixty-nine?” she asked.

“Do you just want to one-up me on giving orgasms?” Eve asked shrewdly.

Camille’s smirk was unrepentant. “Maybe.”

“Sixty-nine,” Eve said firmly, “and the winner tonight makes breakfast in the morning.”

“You’ll regret that,” Camille said, grinning. “I can’t even scramble eggs.”

Eve pulled her into a kiss and snuck her hand into Camille’s shorts while she was at it. She had some catching up to do, and in this case, she would happily be the one to make the morning toast.

***

“Any regrets?” Tanner asked her a couple of days later, glancing knowingly at Eve’s scarf, which everyone in the office could tell was there for no reason but to cover up the hickies Camille had left around her neck.

Eve pushed her curry around her take-away container and sighed. Despite the terrible scrambled eggs, Camille had not only been amazing to sleep with, she’d also been plain fun to have around the flat in the evenings. “None right now,” Eve confessed, “but it’s going to be a bit of a hard one when she leaves, of course.”

Tanner paused. “You didn’t hear?” he asked.

“What?” Eve asked.

Tanner laughed. “I can’t believe I know before you do! I bet M wanted to see your face.”

“Tanner,” Eve warned.

“All right,” Tanner said, calming down. “She’s not leaving. She came to see if she could apply for the field agent program, and since it turns out that her mother had a bit of a run-in and her biological father was technically an Englishman…”

“She can apply for British citizenship,” Eve finished. She narrowed her eyes. “She wants to be a double-oh, doesn’t she?”

“Well…”

“And Bond knew this when she arrived, didn’t he?”

“He didn't know she was coming, and it wasn’t completely certain she’d get accepted,” Tanner said. “She _might_ have just been here on holiday if it didn’t work out.”

“But it did,” Eve said. “It did work out?” 

Tanner nodded. “It did, Eve. M and I finalized it this morning. She’s due to sign the field agent paperwork this afternoon, and she’ll be in the running for the next 003 in a few months. I promise you.” His serious eyes held hers. He wasn’t lying.

Nothing was certain about her and Camille, of course, but if there was one thing they could both work with, it was a fighting chance. And now they had one.

Lightness bubbled up in Eve, and this time she was the one who laughed. “I’m going to kill Bond,” she said. “And then I’m going to put a fruit basket on his grave!”

**Author's Note:**

> Writing explicit femslash in particular is new to me, so constructive criticism is definitely welcome! Thank you for reading <3


End file.
